


the lights that called my name

by majesdane



Category: Bomb Girls
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:51:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She hadn't known what it was, then. Now she thinks maybe she does.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the lights that called my name

Gladys saw a play, once, a few years before the war started, about two women whose lives are ruined when a rumor gets out that they're lovers. Her parents wouldn't have approved of the subject matter at all, but she'd been curious and dragged Carol along with her, one evening when they were spending a weekend holiday in New York City. "How tragic," Gladys had said later, as they'd linked arms and made their way back to the hotel. "Being one of _those_ kind of people. Can you imagine?"

"No," Carol said, with a vehement shake of her head. "And I don't really want to think about it."

But Gladys had thought about it, even long after they'd returned to Rosedale, though she wasn't entirely certain why. She'd thought about Branksome Hall, where she and Carol had gone to school together and become friends. How many times had they kissed their schoolmates on those weekends when they stayed over in the rooms of the boarding girls? She hadn't thought anything of it, at the time; it'd all seemed so ordinary. All the girls had done it.

There was a distinction, perhaps, between what they'd done and kissing another girl because you actually meant it; she couldn't imagine what that was like, loving a girl like you were supposed to love a boy. How strange an idea that was. Perhaps maybe _all_ love was strange.

She wasn't sure.

(Still isn't.)

 

;;

 

She knows -- or at least thinks she knows -- that it hasn't been easy for Betty, since word has gotten out about her. It was bad enough dealing with the gossip about being pregnant, but at least those were just rumors. A falsehood. It's not the same as with Betty, not something so intrinsically a part of her, not something she can deny. Betty never talks about it, and Gladys can't bring herself to ask for details.

(She doesn't really _want_ to know, maybe.) 

But Gladys sees the way she hangs back in the locker room, uncertain, the way she's become quieter, more reserved. This is a different Betty than the one she'd come to know -- it's a Betty who confesses to Gladys once, after a bit of drinking at Leon's club, that she'd spent a whole week terrified of getting fired.

"Mrs. Corbett," Betty'd slurred, swaying a little and reaching over to lean on Gladys for support. "She's so nice. Pulled me aside today and said that I shouldn't worry. Victory Munitions isn't going to toss out their best worker. I don't think she really understands it, does she?" She laughed, but it sounded hollow. Bitter. "I don't think you do either, Princess." 

Which was probably true, but it felt wrong to agree; admitting that she didn't really understand this whole _thing_ with Betty would have only erased all of the good she'd tried to do. And Betty would reject her, would push her away like she used to -- more so, even, than before, and Gladys would be left feeling like a sham.

(She isn't, she doesn't think.)

(But maybe she is.)

 

;;

 

Her mother calls on New Years' Eve, asking her if she'd like to come over for dinner. Gladys declines as politely as she can manage, and lies about feeling under the weather. Things have changed since James left, since Gladys was fired and subsequently rehired at Vic Mu, much to her parents' disapproval. Gladys is glad for James' apartment and the barrier it puts up between the frosty tone of her father and the silent disappointment of her mother. 

Still, she isn't really in the mood to sit alone at home, so she calls Carol, who doesn't pick up, and then tries Betty, because she's really the only other person she knows who would want to come out this late on this day for a drive. Calling Betty involves calling the boarding house and asking whoever picks up to go find her; it's five minutes later when Betty finally says _hello_ on her end, the faint sounds of music and chatter in the background.

Even now Gladys is still surprised that Betty's been allowed to keep on staying in the rooming house, but she supposes that it makes some sort of sense. After all, they can't kick out someone out as long as they're still working at the factory, can they?

"It's Gladys," she says. "I'm bored and lonely and I was thinking about going for a drive. I thought maybe you'd like to come along."

"A drive?" Betty says. "It's New Year's Eve, Princess. And we'll freeze out there."

But she's outside waiting for Gladys anyway, fifteen minutes later, hands stuffed into her coat pockets. She climbs into the car when Gladys pulls up, grumbling about Gladys being late, but there's a hint of a smile on her face when she does it. It's quiet for a little while, while Gladys drives and Betty smokes, and it's nice, how they're able to just sit in silence for each other. 

There's another thing about the silence though: it makes Gladys wonder what it would be like if Kate were here now; she thinks Betty might be wondering the same thing. Kate would be singing, probably, or laughingly helping Betty tell a story about something that had happened in the boarding house, or asking Gladys what Paris is like. 

"You know, I'm actually glad to get out of there for a little while," Betty admits, after a time.

"Yeah," Gladys says softly. "I thought as much."

 

;;

 

"I've been wondering," Betty says, after they've stopped and opened up the champagne. She runs her fingers along the edge of her glass and pointedly looks anywhere but at Gladys. "About, you know, me. How did you, uh -- how did you know . . . " she trails off awkwardly, sounding flustered. "About how I feel about Kate," she finally manages weakly.

Gladys shrugs and sips at her champagne. "I'm not really certain myself, actually," she says. Which isn't entirely true, but she doesn't quite know how to describe the feeling that she'd gotten, watching Betty watching Kate. "I suppose it was just that you looked at her the way a man would," Gladys says. It feels strange to put it like that, but she doesn't know any other way to say it.

Betty flushes a little at Gladys words. "I bet everyone could see it, couldn't they," she mutters, tipping back her head and downing what's left of her champagne in one go. 

"Not everyone."

"That director with two first names, Russell Joseph. He knew."

"Russell Joseph is a cad," Gladys tells her, re-filling Betty's glass.

"Doesn't change the fact that he knew. And now everyone else does too," Betty adds with a resigned sigh. 

Gladys sighs as well, leaning back against the door, listening to the soft fizzle of champagne settling in her glass. "It's all just gossip to them," she says, still slowly nursing her champagne. "Everyone will forget all about it once some new, scandalous thing happens. Besides, if anything, you've still got me. I don't care about -- " she doesn't really know how to put it " -- you know."

Betty eyes her. "You're very strange, Princess," she says, and a few months ago -- a thousand years ago, it feels like -- it wouldn't have been quite such a complimentary thing as it is now. Gladys is still amazed how things have shifted between them, even if she doesn't think they're entirely on even ground yet.

"It's part of my charm," Gladys laughs, and nudges Betty's knee with her foot playfully as the faint strains of the bells in the distance mark the beginning of the new year. "Happy New Year's, Bets," she says with a smile, and leans forward so they can clink their glasses together.

 

;;

 

"Sometimes I wonder if we're really doing the right thing," Betty confesses to Gladys, as they sit together on the train, watching the countryside flash by. They haven't taken James' car today, on account of the poor weather; Betty had balked at the very idea of Gladys driving in the snow. 

Gladys, who's half asleep, mumbles, "What? What do you mean?"

"Aren't we just fooling ourselves with all of this?" Betty explains, sounding very sad and tired. "Even if we _were_ to find Kate and convince her to come back, what sort of life would she be coming back to? One where everyone would point and whisper and judge her -- what kind of a life is that?"

"She'd be happy," Gladys tells her, looping their arms together and putting her head against Betty's shoulder. "And even with all of those things, I know she'd have a better life here than where she is now. For one thing, she'd have you." 

Betty scoffs. "She doesn't even want me, Princess."

"Well, I don't know," Gladys says, and reaches for Betty's hand, threading their fingers together. Betty's palm is warm and rough against her own. 

For a moment Gladys is thrown back to the night they'd spent at Leon's club. She remembers Betty and Kate dancing together, giggling and tipsy from having a little too much to drink. And she remembers, too, the pause that had followed when the song ended, and the unspoken thing that had passed between them.

She hadn't known what it was, then. Now she thinks maybe she does.

"I guess we'll just have to see for ourselves, then," Gladys says, closing her eyes and dreaming of tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> The play Gladys saw was _The Children's Hour_. Running on Broadway from 1934 to 1936, the play was a critical and commercial success, despite its subject matter.


End file.
